Torn Pages
by Goblin Cat KC
Summary: Toshinori created All Might to inspire peace with his bold smile and confident strength, and Izuku is supposed to follow in his footsteps. But with his mentor's example on one side and society's demands on the other, Izuku finds instead that peace can be inspired in many ways. Eventual villain!Deku. Izuku/several. Will update tags.
1. Vigil

**Vigil**

The U.A. Campus sprawled out in all directions, safely nestling its students within the security wall. During the day, the paths and narrow streets crawled with students and faculty keeping the school running, but at night, only the occasional teacher passed by en route to their own quarters, held late by meetings and government visits. Viewed from the dorms, the grounds were dark, lit by regularly placed streetlamps and garden lights that provided a steady glow that wouldn't disturb the students. Outside the wall, the city burned bright and pulsed with traffic and noise, but in his dorm room, Izuku only heard the wind blowing across his window, the soft susurration of the radio.

He sat at his desk, scribbling into a notebook half in the circle of light of his desk lamp. Although he had several notebooks lined up along his desk—math, science, heroes, villains, four for All Might alone—this particular notebook was more of a diary.

Not that anyone would notice that the writing had a point. Entries were made at random, all neatly noted but on topics that didn't seem to mesh. He'd jotted down ideas about the local news, crime statistics, global disasters that caught his eye—a wildfire on the American east coast had given him new ideas of how to use energy blasts to smother flames—but every entry formed a point of a larger web.

"Sharp Quill Journals are for recipes, appointments, and daily thoughts—but I use them to strategize and work with other heroes. Your friendly hero Ink-Blast here. Why, I couldn't fight crime without my journal! And I only take notes in my Sharp Quill Journal, now available in over a thousand colorful designs and kevlar finish."

His mouth quirking slightly, Izuku turned off the radio and leaned back, sighing deeply. He made a point of finishing each day with a final note in this journal—a Sharp Quill—simply to settle his thoughts and wind down for the evening. By his bed, the red numbers of his clock glared back. Too late. He'd stayed up too late again and tomorrow he would pay for it, but he didn't feel tired.

Instead he flipped through the pages, looking back over the past several weeks. Bullet points about small villain flare-ups in nearby cities, the death of a sidekick Rochelle, an opinion piece on the effect of All Might's retirement...the defense force trying to form a hero squad of their own, drawing from the many former would-be heroes who had been expelled. A newly drafted law, soon to be voted on, to ban the sale of alcohol to heroes. Present Mic's scream had echoed across campus.

With All Might gone, the world had retreated back into fear, scrabbling at solutions, desperate to feel safe again. They'd looked to Endeavor, but he was too dour and grandstanding to inspire trust. Other heroes tried, sensing the void to be filled and potential riches, but no one seemed primed to leap into the limelight with the same confidence and proud grin.

And so the villains crept back from the shadows, resurfacing as they began to recruit, gathering influence and greater numbers. Stain's performance had emboldened anyone dissatisfied with the current state of affairs, and anyone who could put on a mask felt the opportunity to go out into the street and destroy a little piece of the world.

If anything, the world was fine. Still at peace, still eager to keep the cities calm and life moving along as always. Izuku tapped his pen on the page, thinking. It was the villains, the thieves and killers, who needed a symbol. Something to fear, a vision if not of peace, then of overwhelming terror. Not a hero for the people but a villain to villains.

His head tilted. A hero would never be allowed to do so by the very government and society he fought to protect.

A vigilante.

He frowned, opened his notebook...

"—vigilante, but he'd have to be powerful enough to not only fight the villains but to push back against the heroes who would be mounted against him. He would need some way of healing himself, a headquarters of some kind, well hidden—"

His desk lamp burned for a long time into the night.


	2. Design

**Design**

A common sight between classes and dinner, Izuku sat on a park bench in the shade, knees drawn to his chest as he scribbled in his notes. The increasing cold kept everyone inside the dorms, giving him a little privacy at the cost of enduring the late autumn wind.

"Costume: something to conceal the face, a jacket or a deep hood, (a mask?); gloves—important! no fingerprints; needs to be imposing—drawback small frame, little intimidation without manifesting power…"

A thought exercise, that's all it was, this concept of vigilantism rolling around in his head, gathering ideas as it grew larger and larger. A thought experiment taking form on the page.

"What about colors? All in black? Green hair color would stand out—still not that common. Dye jobs would be tedious—worth it as camouflage? DNA matches are a danger—"

The school bell chimed. Classes and training had been done with, but the marketing students were coming back from a field trip to a banking exposition. In small groups, they carried briefcases and plastic bags filled with convention fliers and freebies, their ID cards on dark lanyards that matched their formal slacks and skirts and ties. They were all would-be salarymen and hopeful CEOs of their own companies, although a few rumpled outcasts followed at the fringes.

The students went nowhere without their usual escort of a black car after their bus. Without the powerful quirks of the heroic classes nor the inventions of the designers,the marketing classes were still UA students and tempting targets. And the government insisted on offering protection.

Izuku had asked the teachers what they thought of the added security. No one had answered him without looking around first and cursing afterward.

Today, parked behind the school bus, two government agents stepped out to stretch their legs, leaning against the car and smoking. In all the time Izuku had seen them, they'd never stopped to talk to any of the students, despite the numerous school trips they'd shadowed.

This was the third expo the marketing students had been to in the semester, and Izuku heard the difference in their conversations as they passed by—vague guesses about business trends gave way to specific items in their portfolios, job opportunities and the stock prices of each company, the creative freedom of one firm vs. the sure success of another. Izuku had several of the students in his notes, those who had stood out, already building their reputations, and what they were increasingly known for: bold costume designs, social media optimizing, business card minimalism, and networking between current heroes and potential sidekicks.

He wondered if they'd ever imagined designing a costume for a vigilante. Aside from a few wealthy stand-outs, most quirks who didn't follow the hero rules also didn't seem to have the support of a professional team. There had to be some designers willing to create for a vigilante —

"—don't know why you even bothered to show up, dressed like that. You're practically warning investors off with that look."

Izuku glanced up. A pack of girls faced a slightly disheveled young man, his shirt half-untucked, his shoes slightly scuffed. His coat jacket looked half a size too big and he fidgeted with the watch on his arm, clearly not used to wearing it. Unremarkable on his own, but framed against the pressed and steamed perfection of his classmates, Izuku had to admit that he stood out for the wrong reasons.

But Izuku's attention didn't linger on the outcast, ducking their scorn and retreating back to their dorms. The girl who had spoken—petite, rail thin with overly large glasses—had tipped her head back at the precise angle to show off her polite smile. She held her briefcase over her shoulder playfully without a single crease in her clothing. And her eyes held nothing but sharp contempt, following her victim's back all the way to the door. She could have twisted a knife without changing her smile, never letting a drop of blood fall on her soft winter gloves.

He blinked.

It was her outfit, he realized. The gloves and neat vest she wore made her seem all the more imposing, backed by some kind of official authority. If "clothes made the man," then these clothes gave her power.

Only after staring for half a moment did he realize that she also had green hair, and he added the note: green hair=no problem.

Her triumphant smile flashed at her classmates as she melted back into her group, as innocent as if she hadn't been involved at all. She had stomped her classmate's pride into the dirt as well as any villain on a fallen hero. The thought occurred to him. Who would look for a villain inside a school for heroes? And—

Izuku paused.

Villain?

Something in him clenched. He remembered Tsuyu's look at them before rescuing Bakugou, thinking that breaking the rules was the same ethos that villains lived by. Any hero who worked against his friends would have to see that same look, the same sadness and regret, possibly again and again.

A vigilante was a villain in society's eyes. Anyone deliberately setting out to terrify criminals would have to cause fear and pain. An anti-hero? No, a villain for sure. Someone who could turn his back on the people closest to him and lie right to their faces. Anyone who could do that…?

Worthless.

He scribbled it on the top of his design notes.

But the description didn't bother him as much as it once had.


	3. Restriction

**Restriction**

"This is the law, that for every action, there is an opposite and equal reaction—"

As he took notes, Izuku shared a quick glance with Momo as she checked her phone under the desk. She grimaced and mouthed that there was nothing in the news. Teachers from the support building had come over to substitute as the heroics teachers were all out, and the students had been kept busy with material more suited to engineers. Izuku chewed the tip of his pen, feeling the nervousness of the whole class. Adding complicated math and science to the mix made for a stressed study body.

At least this teacher had found a way to tie the math to their own specialties.

"We're going to put your physics work in context of a superhero in the midst of a battle. Specifically, the benefits for each of you individually of either throwing a car at a villain versus driving a car into them at 80 kph—"

Izuku, Katsuki and Yaoyorozu were in their usual race to finish the math first, not for any prize but simply personal honor, when the door opened. Everyone paused as Aizawa entered, not in his usual heroic gear of black and gray but instead in a full business suit. The students straightened up in their seats, glancing at each to see if anyone knew anything.

At seeing his look, the teacher's shoulders dropped. "It passed, didn't it?"

Aizawa gave a tight nod. "Not yet, but it's going to. The principal's calling a meeting soon. Classes will be canceled after the bell for the rest of the day. Go on—homeroom teachers will follow after."

"Sweet," Mineta grinned, but his voice trailed off seeing the tension in Aizawa's eyes. "Wait...what's passing?"

"HR 179," Yaoyorozu said, now realizing why the teachers had been out."But sensei, I thought there was a protest against it."

"'HR'?" Ashida echoed. "What's that?"

Aizawa sighed and leaned against the chalkboard.

"It's time that you begin paying attention outside of class to the world around you," he started. "Today the Diet will pass the Hero Restriction number 179."

Kirishima made a small sound of understanding. "I heard about that. That's the one that says we can't drink, right?"

Kaminari groaned. "No...I was so looking forward to my first legal glass."

Aizawa gave him a look that promised an early morning surprise dorm inspection.

"That's what the media focused on," Aizawa said. "But there's several riders on this restriction. No alcohol, nothing mind-altering, no opioids—"

"What?" Iida said. "But...my brother needs those as painkillers."

"A lot of heroes do," Aizawa said. "It's the only thing that can keep up with some heroes' metabolisms. Hell, morphine's the only thing that I don't neutralize. If this had passed last year..."

His eye twitched above the scar.

"But more importantly," he continued, "this bill was seen as a test run for HR 180. Representative Hirohito has been drafting legislation to force licensed heroes to take national identification cards with locator chips. They would see where we are at all times."

"Wouldn't that be a good thing?" Koda asked. "In case someone got kidnapped or lost in a disaster?"

"Gah!" Mineta squeaked. "No! I don't want anyone knowing where I go!"

Everyone cringed, their minds filling with the salacious places he would visit.

"But if you were trying to get drugs off the black market," Izuku muttered, a slew of ideas popping up. "Or if you wanted to start a business or run for office...they'd want to know who you talked to."

"That in itself is a precursor," Aizawa said. "Nezu is afraid this will turn into strict 'accountability' guidelines for heroes. Running patrols on time, never falling behind or moving too fast, always taking precise routes. Monitoring expenditures for things the government considers improper. And I'm sure all of us who spoke against this will be high on the list to receive locator chips. As will be families of heroes, to make sure there is no evidence of collusion."

"We're not machines," Jiro said. "They can't micromanage us like that."

Uraraka choked. "My parents would have to wear chips?"

Aizawa tensed. "Principal Nezu called them something else..."

He didn't say it, as it was too vulgar to use in front of children, but from their looks, they understood. A former lab rat would not be happy about being forced back into the maze.

The school bell rang to dismiss all students. The class was quiet as they returned to their dorm, several of them gathering in the common room to commiserate, to catch up on homework or call home. Kaminari invited Kirishima to his room to "take care of something before Aizawa gets there," with Jori and Ashido accompanying them.

Izuku instead signed out at the main office with a note that he would be leaving to do some quick shopping and be back before long. He hoped he found everything he needed in one trip. A government that kept its eye on its heroes meant that they would record everything he bought to see if they approved.

Which meant he needed to stock up before they started checking. Specifically, he needed some black gloves, a vest, some slacks and decent shoes.


	4. Night Out

**Night Out**

Every dorm room had an attached veranda with a luxurious view of the campus and the city beyond. Izuku knew better than to hope they weren't being watched. Each balcony, each door, even the basements were recorded to ensure no villains sneaking in or, more importantly, no students sneaking out.

Not only had Izuku made sketches of their dorm floor plan, but he had noted the cameras on each door, potential hidden cameras behind signs, and the routes and times of the cleaning personnel. A white shirt, brown cap and khaki slacks mean that he could walk right out of the building, with a trash bag for show, and vanish around the dumpster.

A dumpster with a giant centipede, its ten inches swaying defiantly upright in the wind. Izuku grimaced and tossed the bag in, running through the darkness and leaping over the wall.

Several blocks away, he folded up his hat and pants beneath a bush. That left him in his new outfit—black gloves, a tie and a dark vest that he put over his shirt. It didn't give him the armor of his usual costume—he couldn't find anything like that for sale for civilians and he couldn't risk the that kind of purchase being traced back to himself. Maybe later, if he could talk to one of the costume designers…

The streets were empty, all pawn shops, cheap grocery stores and head shops with bars on windows. It wasn't the hot part of town, and the cars were far and few between. The streetlamps were even fewer.

Just a normal patrol, he thought to himself. I'm just doing a normal patrol. All I've done so far is leave without permission and wear different clothes. Nothing's happened yet. Nothing's happened. Nothing will happen. The odds are totally against it. It's just a test run, just—

An explosion of glass and fire.

Izuku jumped back from the sidewalk, hiding in the darkness of the alley. It wasn't really an explosion—only a pop and bang as one of the windows was smashed outward and three men came jumping and stumbling into the street, their hands laden with money dripping from between their fingers, from out of their pockets.

"Clumsy," Izuku mumbled to himself, watching as one tripped over the twisted bars and fell on his shoulder. "Amateurs with a little experience, newbie in the back, probably an inside job with an employee…"

They headed for a car parked across the street, and out of reflex, Izuku sent a flick of pressure into its engine, igniting a real explosion that sent them sprawling backwards as flaming bits of metal landed around them. With panicked screams, they ran in earnest, fleeing blindly past Izuku into the alley—

—right into a dumpster and the wall. Amid their cursing and accusing each other, Izuku stepped into the middle of the alley, intentionally scuffing the pavement so they heard him.

One of the thieves screamed and dropped the money. Needles shot out of his fingertips even as he turned, snarling as he sent a dozen sharp points at Izuku's face.

His eyes widening, Izuku reacted even as his breath caught, moving with all the speed of his training. The wave from Izuku's backhand scattered the points and punched into the thief's shoulder, spinning him back around and into the wall. In the darkness he only saw the man's silhouette, a shape a head taller than himself—felt the dark heat of something splashing his face. Remembered that people without armor and defensive quirks couldn't take a hit like that.

As the body fell, Izuku felt the heat of the next attack and saw the red glow growing bright behind him. Shaking, he turned his head and saw the ribbon of fire coming at his face. Like swatting aside a fly, he sent the flame rebounding back into the other's face, for an instant giving Izuku a bright red flash of the man's skin charring—and then the man fell, first with screams, then choked groans and then nothing.

Gasping and not knowing why, Izuku looked at the last thief, the clumsy amateur who now curled up against the dumpster, gibbering and crying into his hands. The stench that followed was almost enough to make Izuku vomit. A hoard of roaches and a huge centipede scurried toward the dumpster, lured in by the scent of death and decay. Izuku gagged and took half a step back, then realized there was nothing else coming.

"Toxic fumes?" Izuku put his forearm over his nose and mouth. "Or maybe…?"

A wail came from the back of the man's throat. There were bugs crawling all over him, and Izuku realized that was the whole attack. He lowered his hand, grimacing at the sight.

"They had real quirks," Izuku muttered to himself. "Mostly…even that last one could be a defensive quirk. And instead they're knocking over pawn shops. "

Izuku looked at him for a moment, clenching his fists. The money they'd stolen rustled underfoot. Men like these were why society needed heroes. And the things Izuku had done were why the government wanted to restrict heroes.

Over the weak mewling, Izuku heard police sirens and growing voices—heroes assigned to this patrol, and the police on their heels.

Test run over. Time to leave.

Only when he stood washing up in front of his bathroom mirror did he notice how his hands were still shaking and how a tiny bit of blood had landed on his shirt collar. He shuddered as he cleaned it, remembering how the girls had once described getting blood on their skirts and cleaning it with soap pastes, laughing as the boys squirmed. He couldn't stop his muttering, recalling their conversation, their laughter, as he washed the blood.

"Test failure," he mumbled, then amended. "Partial failure. No detection—superhero response time only slightly better than police. No fingerprints—never touched them directly. The probability of any security cameras is nil and the street was poorly lit at best. And the third one never saw me. The other two are…"

He choked. Coughed. Squeezed his eyes shut tight and washed his clothes faster.

Hot water scalded his hands.


	5. Bird Cage

Izuku joined his classmates in the common room, sheltering from the winter storm. All of them had their phones and computers, but the lightning and ice hitting the window meant they had no signal to the outside world, and there was a camaraderie in sitting like this, shoulder to shoulder, some of them holding hands as Representative Hirohito spoke over loud demonstrators with signs.

Atsui held her hands close to her chest, all but folded up on herself, as Hirohito described quirks that were so ingrained that integration into society was all but impossible for these "heroes"—they heard the polite sarcasm dripping like acid. People who were "born half-animal, crippled by their quirks, barely human outcasts"—someone touched her shoulder reassuringly, and her soft croaks faded into her throat.

"Someone should cripple that fucker," Bakugou growled.

"He'd probably like that," Yaoyorozu said. "It'd give him all the ammunition he needs."

"He has a lot of supporters," Todoroki said. "Someone else would just take his place."

"So that's it?" Hagakure asked, her disembodied voice coming from beside Atsui, being held in turn. "He gets to be mean and we have to stay...invisible?"

"We're still just students," Iida said. "But I know that there are supporters on our side, too. Ingenium...my parents haven't told me anything beyond that they're working on it."

"It's a coalition of the established hero families," Yaoyorozu said. "And all our financiers and fans. It's larger than you'd think, but it's hard to fight something like this. It takes a massive PR campaign, and they have a head start on us."

"But why hate us?" Ochako whispered. "Everyone has quirks. Why pick us?"

"Yes, they have quirks," Tokoyami said. "But we can knock down buildings. We can—"

Angry shouts came from outside, heavy footsteps coming closer and closer. All of them stood and backed away from the door as it became clear that they didn't recognize most of the voice, and that the principal's voice was raised in frustration.

"—protest this in the strongest terms," Nezu demanded, almost up against the door now. "Parents have not been informed or given consent—damn it, they're children!"

An electronic lock clicked and a heavy bolt slid free from inside the door, and five men in suits and raincoats stepped in, shaking off the rain that followed. One of them held a folder that he checked, looking over a list and then comparing it to the students.

"Tokoyami Fumikage," he said, pointing. "Hagakure Toru. You will come with us."

"What?" Yaoyorozu said. "Why? For what reason?"

"We don't have to explain—" one started.

"They're trying to round up all of the heroes with physical mutations," Nezu said over him. "They're from Hirohito's task force, but they won't admit it! Kidnapping children in the night with the government's permission—"

"There are concerns about his dark shadow personality," another said, giving him a look. "And her invisibility affecting her brain. This is in accord with the new legislation and you must comply as a government institution. You two will come quietly."

"Or else?" Bakugou demanded.

All five men put their hands on the same pocket of their coats.

"Stop." Tokoyami stepped forward from the group. "It's all right. I'm sure it will be fine."

"But—" Ashida whispered.

"It will be fine." Tokoyami turned and winked over his shoulder. "Tell Hagakure she's in a lot of trouble for going home early, though."

Ashida blinked awkwardly for a moment, but Shoji and Ojiro stepped in front of her with solid nods. "Right! 'Cause she ain't here with us, not at all."

"Should we call her," Todoroki asked, already pulling out his cell phone. "To let her know you're coming?"

"No," one of the men said too quickly.

"They're bluffing," one said, and for a moment the class held its breath. "They can't get a signal out in this weather."

Bakugou growled as Todoroki put his phone away. As the men opened the door again, ushering Tokoyami out into the storm, they heard one of the men whisper too loudly "what about the frog girl?"

The man with the checklist looked back at them, and the students packed around the girl in question, who stared at them with freakishly large eyes, pitifully weak croaks in the silence. He snorted. How the hell did that thing make it this far as a hero anyway? But tearing her away from their firm grasp was clearly a different matter from taking the bird thing, so he let it be.

"Bus is full," he muttered.

They left the door wide open, Nezu glaring at them in hate that he couldn't act on, the children behind him like young monsters who, even if they had fangs, were still small enough to be stepped on.

The agents didn't notice the school girl's uniform in a rumpled pile in the corner, didn't hear an invisible girl clinging to Yaoyorozu's back to muffle her tears, and didn't notice Izuku slipping out one of the windows, using the ice rain hitting the roof or the lightning to hide himself.

Keeping his head down through the rain, Tokoyami stepped into the bus, the door was locked shut behind him, and they drove off into the darkness.


	6. Ice

**Ice**

 _(warning: this part earns its rating in violence)_

By the time the bus passed the school gates, Izuku couldn't feel his hands. Full cowling was only doing so much against the ice and sleet hitting his back—his uniform was already soaked through and the cold stole his breath. As the bus picked up speed, he dug his fingertips into the roof so he didn't slide off. Thunder masked the sound of the steel groaning under his grip.

They were leaving the city. They could have taken the students to the police or the local government offices, but instead they were heading out toward the mountain. The road was dangerous—they passed a police barricade keeping drivers from going up in the storm, the squad car headlights sweeping over the children as they drove by.

Izuku clung tight, hoping the storm covered him. The government had Tokoyami, but if the agents had visited the other classes, then these students came from every part of U.A.—marketing and business and costume and tech. This wasn't just about heroes. This was about quirks and people with power, people who didn't need to get a license to have that power. This was about people who _were_ weapons, and at least part of their society was afraid of people like that. Even if they were children.

Up the road, the bus tilted at an angle that left Izuku struggling to hold on. How did they not hear him as he scraped his feet on the roof? The storm couldn't have been that loud. What was going on in the bus? He tried to crawl forward and lost his grip with one hand, dangling by his fingertips.

They're being taken to the capital, Izuku thought. That's the only place the road goes, and—

The bus turned sharply down a dirt path and drove into the forest. A minute later, it came to a clearing with a single car, its headlights showing the ice coming down. As the bus came to a halt, the car opened.

Izuku looked up and recognized the men who'd come to take Tokoyami, and he frowned, confused. Why were they here waiting? The bus driver tried to open the door and found that it wouldn't budge, and he started to yell and pound on the door.

Then the men withdrew the firearms from under their coats and opened fire on the bus.

For one terrible moment, Izuku froze. The world seemed to float, and all of the rain coming down hovered in the air—a single second of clarity as the flash of gunfire made haloes around the men, lit the clearing like lightning and brought the smell of blood—the bullets as numerous as rain drops.

A scream came from the bus, like one person that had forty voices all shrieking at once. The bus rocked form the sheer amount of bullets hitting it, and as Izuku drew back for his attack—slowly, too slowly, why couldn't he move?—the door, the windshield and the windows at the front all sheared off in an explosion of glass and metal and a dark shadow howling madness and murder.

Tokoyami's shadow picked up one of the agents in its beak and threw him into the sky so that he vanished, forgotten. Two more sprawled backward into the mud as Izuku kicked, sending a long wave of pressure that scattered their guns. Izuku jumped off the bus and was running toward the last three when the shadow made another pass, biting one's head off.

The last two gunman aimed at Tokoyami, already leaning against the torn doorframe, and fired. As Tokoyami fell backwards with a yell, the shadow wavered and grew larger than the bus, larger than the mountain, its own pressure driving away the rain as it roared and lashed out.

Izuku kept his feet only by planting himself firmly with his own strength, taking deliberate steps to the men on the ground. They were pushed flat into the mud, stretching their fingertips out for their weapons, and Izuku fell to his knees, grabbing one's hand and crushing it to a pulp. Bracing himself against a large stone in the mud, he squeezed until blood and bone oozed out from between his fingers, and he was pushing the man's head face first into the mud until he stopped struggling, half buried in the ground. When he looked at the other one, he found that he hadn't been holding onto a rock as he'd thought. He'd been holding the man's face, and it now lay half separated from his skull, his fingertips dug into the bone as if it had been the steel roof of a bus.

Something screamed and landed just out of the car headlights—another government man hitting the ground. Just one left—Izuku stood and found him firing at the shadow overhead, long since out of bullets but still shooting as if he had anything left, his eyes wide in mindless panic

Izuku's fist went through the man's chest. He felt the spine shattering against his knuckles. As the man dropped, too shocked to scream, Izuku's foot crushed down on his skull.

Coughing, barely breathing, Izuku went back to the bus, painfully aware that the shadow had fallen silent, either spending all of its rage or...

He sat down on the steps beside Tokoyami, the beak parted slightly, eyes focused on nothing. But he didn't have to check for a pulse. Tokoyami was still alive, dragging in ragged breaths, sheltered by a shadow laying over him like a blanket.

"...who?" Tokoyami shuddered as he dragged in a breath. "Who are...?"

"It's me," Izuku said, smoothing the feathers of his forehead. "It's me. Don't move."

"Are they...dead?" Tokoyami rasped.

"Yeah...," Izuku said. He pulled off Tokoyami's torn sleeve, using it as a quick tourniquet for his leg, for his other arm, to staunch the flow from his shoulder. "I killed the last one."

"No..." Tokoyami coughed. "...students."

Izuku looked up at Shadow, who obligingly left Tokoyami's side and swept through the bus. A moment later it settled back over him without comment.

That left him with another problem. If Tokoyami went back to the school to Recovery Girl, the government would know. If they went to a hospital, the government would know. If Shadow flew, it would be spotted. If they walked back, Tokoyami might not make it. If—

Izuku's gaze settled on the car. The top was bent in, the paint had curled in places, the windshield was cracked in the corners, but the engine was still running and the lights were on.

"Shadow," he said, "take him to the car. I'll just be a minute. We'll get him help."

Deku the hero had stolen away on the bus to save his friend. It was someone else who stood up and set fire to the bus to hide Tokoyami's escape, who stomped the government's child-killers into the earth to hide the bodies, who turned the heater up so he could begin to feel his fingers again.

The shaking wouldn't stop. Neither did his mumbling.

"—government facilities are off limits, maybe private heroes—can't, they'll be under surveillance. On our own until we get word out, need supplies though...gotta keep him alive...whatever it takes..."


	7. Shelter

**Shelter**

Izuku had never driven a car before, but the starter was on the dash and the engine was already running. He rolled slowly down a steep road lit only by lightning and the ice in the headlights, but Tokoyami's shuddering pushed him faster, guiding him to the base of the mountain.

The police cars and cement barricades were gone. Of course. Izuku felt his heart clench as fiercely as his jaw.

"Someplace safe," he mumbled. "Bandages, gauze, sutures, pain killers...blankets...someplace warm..."

So late at night, a car prowling through the narrow streets wasn't noticed. It was luck that he found a motel with a lurid neon sign advertising a vacancy. Even more luck that he noticed the concierge's eyes flicking toward his green hair, taking note of his scarred hands. Identifying features, Izuku knew, of a well known student having vanished from the nearby campus.

"Did they offer a big reward?" Izuku asked calmly.

In a grimy sweat shirt, ostensibly watching a wrestling match on the portable tv behind the desk, the concierge's voice didn't falter at the odd question. "Reward for what?" The lack of curiosity or confusion in his tone forced Izuku's hand. He couldn't afford mercy. He had a friend to protect.

Izuku had to roll the body into the threadbare carpet in the hall, then tied it with a curtain cord and poured the rest of the man's beer over the surface. A huge stain, too big to even think of salvaging, and he chucked the whole thing into the dumpster out front. Then he took a key for an empty room, carried Tokoyami inside to the bed and put a blanket over him.

"I'll be back," he whispered, smoothing the feathers on Tokoyami's head. "With something for the pain."

"...don't...don't get caught..."

Lightning flashed outside. Izuku closed the curtains and left the lamp on. As he walked out, he turned on the radio by the bed, a strange superstition in his heart that if Tokoyami didn't fall asleep, he'd be alive when Izuku returned.

The only pharmacy he found was already closed. Fine. No one saw him pull the bars off the narrow back window and slide in. He had to root through the dark for packaged flashlights and batteries before he could cautiously shine a beam over the shelves and gather food, medicine, a lighter. He raided behind the counter for prescription pills. And then he splashed rubbing alcohol over the floor and set the shop on fire, sprinting out loaded with bags as the glow grew behind him.

So this is what it feels like, he thought. To not care. To have nothing to lose.

No, he thought. Not 'nothing' to lose. Everything precious to me. All I have is my friends. If he...

Izuku swallowed his worries and hopped through the alleys faster.

The rain was finally slowing to a dull drizzle as he came around the corner of the motel. In the red neon glare, something reared up and swayed over him, a giant centipede as tall as the roof. With a half-choked shriek, he whirled and pulled his fist back, arm taut with the gathering power.

Not a centipede. A rolled carpet that had shifted upright in the wind.

Izuku stared at it for a long moment, trying to reconcile what he was seeing with the vision his mind had conjured. Its legs, just long threads and shadows. The fangs, the shoes jutting out of one side. The hissing, the rasp of old fabric on metal.

He shoved the carpet back down into the dumpster and slammed the top closed. As he walked back in, he changed the sign to no vacancy and locked up.

Tokoyami was still breathing, his gaze sliding from the ceiling to the door as Izuku came in. Shadow unwrapped from around him, welcoming Izuku in as he took out bottles of pills and water.

"Does it make you stronger if your shadow's in the dark?" Izuku asked as he read the instructions on the side and measured out the right dose. "Like, can he help you stay...?"

Alive? He couldn't make himself say it. Tokoyami had the strength to raise his head and take the offered pills and water.

"...don't...know..." He lay back and closed his eyes.

"Things like that, we should know," Izuku muttered. "Just one lamp so I can see, and then we'll turn it off."

To Izuku's relief, the bleeding had slowed to a frozen slush from Tokoyami's arm and shoulder. He rinsed them off and used the antiseptic, gauze and bandages. Only now as he tried to look up 'field medicine' did he see that the rain had gotten behind his cell phone screen. Desperate, he looked for Tokoyami's phone only to find it in his shirt pocket, two large ripples of cracks in its screen.

Ricochets.

He did the best he could, made a quick canned soup in the microwave and forced Tokoyami to swallow some of it. Then he turned off the lamp and closed the curtains. In the darkness, Shadow's eyes shone like stars, sometimes staring at Izuku, usually watching Tokoyami.

Izuku's mind raced—too exhausted to sleep, too wired to focus, he found his fingers writhing, in need of a pen. He used the flashlight to search through the drawers for a pen, finding one by the rotary phone by the bed. But there was no paper or notepad.

He started writing on the walls.

"Phones, internet—first priority. We need communication. Radio's not good enough. We have to warn everyone. Save everyone. Stop the government. Stop them from hurting us. Destroy their ability to hurt us..."


	8. Files

**Files**

The rain didn't let up. Izuku felt the emptiness of the room, the silence broken only by Tokoyami's breathing and the rain hitting the window. The weather had covered their tracks, but it also kept him trapped inside—too risky to use the phone, no reception on the television, nothing but static on the radio.

Afraid that the government agents' car might be traceable, Izuku had crushed it down to a lump and left it in the freshly emptied dumpster. He'd the same to the briefcase in the backseat, fearing that it was bugged, but the chance at the information inside was too tempting and he'd opened it regardless. With the lamp at his side so as not to wake Tokoyami, he spread all of the folders out on the floor, finding each folder labeled and carrying photographs of several students.

 _Ministry of Heroes Affairs  
Academy Subject Files - Classification Level 4. Authorized for identification use only._

Dossiers lay before him, folders full of students most radically altered from their quirks—children who could no longer pass for human. Several students from the business and support departments were also there, and at first Izuku wasn't sure why. Then he noticed the notes at the bottom of each page.

 _Maximixed gunpowder output 100% comparable to a nuclear device. In contact with Americans._

 _Crafted long range sniper scope with 3D printable blueprints. Superior to current military models. Would not divulge methods._

 _Created instantly lethal phosgene gas. Destroyed chemical marker when pressed to divulge._

"But why kill them?" he wondered out loud. "The government could have hired them instead. They could have confiscated the work. They didn't have to..."

A chuckle came from behind him. Izuku rushed to dim the light.

"Sorry, sorry," Izuku said, looking over his shoulder. "I didn't mean to be so loud."

"S'all right," Tokoyami breathed. "'m not trying to sleep. You're more interesting than staring at nothing."

"Oh..." Izuku glanced back at the dossiers. "Um...should I keep working, then? If it's not really disturbing you?"

"Sure." Tokoyami turned his head slightly, enough to see the papers on the floor. "Hate just lying here useless."

"You're not useless. You're alive," Izuku said. "You have to rest and get better. I can't...I don't want to do this alone."

"'This'...?"

"...I don't know yet," Izuku admitted, trying to scrub the frustration from his face. "But something has to be done. They killed our classmates. They killed kids."

"Heroes in training," Tokoyami whispered. "Soldiers."

"Heroes aren't soldiers," Izuku said too loudly. Tokoyami winced and the shadow stirred. With a grimace, Izuku lowered his voice. "And the support students, they can't fight like we can."

Tokoyami lay still, breathing so softly that Izuku turned and sat on the edge of the couch. A few of his friend's feathers lay askew over his eyes, and Izuku gently smoothed them back down. With a faint groan, Tokoyami turned his head toward him, encouraging him to continue.

"I heard them talking," Tokoyami whispered. "In the bus. They were scared. Thought they were being arrested for...lots of things. Poison gas. Spy stuff. Things they said online. Things they...didn't say."

Izuku frowned. Tokoyami saw his look and managed a strained laugh.

"You should read the news more," Tokoyami said. "Everyone's scared of heroes. They're scared of us."

"Our classmates weren't vigilantes," Izuku said.

"Control." Tokoyami breathed deep, settling more comfortably on the pillow. "People want control, and we...we don't act like we're under control."

"That..."

How could heroes show complete obedience? Izuku winced. The very act of speaking out against the Hero Restrictions proved the government right. Heroes refused to be completely controlled.

His gaze fell back to the dossiers on the floor, the names and faces of the dead.

"They can't kill everyone," he said.

"Won't have to," Tokoyami said. "Restrict heroes...keep things safe. Anyone argues...they disappear. Everyone else obeys...like how no one but heroes use their quirks."

Realizing his friend was finally drifting toward sleep again, Izuku sat back on the floor and leaned the lamp over the papers again.

 **Subject:** #1-A-14

 **Name** **:** Fumikage Tokoyami

 **AKA:** Jet-Black Hero

 **Species:** Bird Human miscegenation

 **Gender:** Male

 **Height:** 158 cm

 **Eyes** : Red

 **Age** **:** 15 years

 **Other Physical Traits:** Black feathers, beak

 **Blood Type:** AB

 **Quirk** **:** Phantom bird appears out of his shadow. Power limit unknown.

 **Recommendation:** Priority Removal

"'Miscegenation'?" he whispered, not knowing the word.

"...mixing species." Tokoyami's whisper was barely there, trailing off to nothing. "It's...not a nice word."

Izuku winced. "I guess you've heard that one before."

No response. Tokoyami was asleep. Izuku watched him for a moment, then turned his attention to the rain. In the distance, he could just make out the highest lights of the academy.

The pile of dossiers were enough to fill a briefcase. There were more names than could fit on a bus.

He had to get word to his friends. Before they was another bus.


	9. Flare

**Flare**

The grounds of U.A. High School were such that any attempt at an attack would be instantly defended against. Anyone walking onto school grounds without a student or employee pass would be automatically detected. And Izuku had no illusions about trying his previous trick of simply not taking his identification card. Security would be doubled or even tripled after his disappearance—there would be no dodging the cameras and guards this time.

So he did the only thing he could think of.

Wearing a dark hoodie he stole off a rooftop clothesline, he kept his head down as he slowly approached the main entrance. The gates were closed and locked—a handful of men in dark suits stood at the side, leaning against their cars as they smoked. Traffic was no longer allowed on either side of the gates, blocked off by concrete barriers, and the street ahead was completely deserted. No one wanted to do business in front of the school anymore.

Izuku took a deep breath and lowered his head. Hands in his pockets, he stepped off the sidewalk and headed directly toward the gate.

The small crowd of government men couldn't help but notice him. One by one, they stood straight, nudging each other and motioning at young man coming closer. One in front held up a hand as if to wave Izuku away, but when Izuku moved a little faster, there was no doubt. Guns appeared in their hands as they took aim and fired—

And then the bullets went backwards as Izuku punched as hard as he could. The shockwave barreled through the men, breaking them against the wall as metal and concrete broke and fell inwards. One of the cars smashed and exploded, sending up a fireball that momentarily warmed the winter air.

Izuku leaped through the smoke and began to sprint, taking huge vaulting leaps through the campus. In his mind, the clock began to tick down. He only had a handful of seconds to make it to the student dorms. The agents in the way were nothing—they couldn't keep up with him and a strong wave of his arm was all it took to send them flying—but the school's defenses and the teachers...

His strength suddenly vanished. He stumbled, rolled along the brown grass and came back up in a run.

Gloves, full length slacks, socks and shoes, long sleeve shirt. All of his skin was covered. So how had—?

The blast had blown his hood back without him realizing it. Izuku sighed in exasperation with himself, yanking the hood up again. His quirk rushed back as he leaped, using a tree to change the angle of his jump.

Aizawa's scarf snapped inches past his head, just missing his neck.

Izuku didn't stop. The teachers were the real threat, and no one would listen to him if he tried to explain. Had they recognized him? Would they realize who he was based on how he moved? On how his quirk manifested? Probably, after they analyzed the security footage. But right now they would only focus on bringing him down—

Yanking the hood farther down with one hand, he turned in midair and kicked, sending a shockwave behind him. He couldn't see the effect it had but he heard the sound of yelling and falling trees, heard a bullet ricochet somewhere in the distance. Snipe had taken a shot and his bullet had been blasted aside.

Izuku's luck was holding—he kept his jumps close to the ground, zigzagging so that his steps were impossible to predict. Aizawa was behind him, always missing by one inch, and Izuku winced as he passed through an impossibly high pitched soundwave. The shriek stopped almost as soon as it began, Present Mic not willing to risk hitting Aizawa, which told Izuku that his teacher was almost on top of him.

The ground rumbled.

Izuku grit his teeth. This was the attack he'd feared the most, the one Recovery Girl had once mentioned was the hardest to fight against.

The sidewalk ripped in half as a huge crack ran through the length of it, splitting the street and hurling up chunks as large as Izuku himself. He dodged twice but took a heavy slam on his side that sent him sprawling. He turned the fall into a somersault that put him back on his feet and sprinting again. This time when he felt the ground move, the rising piece of street became a springboard for him to push against.

In midair, Izuku's roundhouse kick sent anything in the air flying back toward the ground like so many dozens of stone missiles. He briefly spotted Aizawa falling back, gathering his scarf close to himself like a shield. His teacher's retreat gave Izuku a few desperate seconds to again kick, this time at the ground—it rippled and sent up several tons of clods of earth. In the chaos, he landed safely and rounded the bend past the park, finally arriving at the front door of the dorms.

The wall of ice that blasted toward him caught him by surprise. Only the aftershocks his kick saved him, sending Todoroki stumbling against the door so that the ice only trapped Izuku's outstretched arm.

His breath felt sucked away as the ice worked over his skin like blue veins. With a gasp, Izuku tore himself free and darted up the side of the building instead.

Stupid mistake, he scolded himself. I should have realized the students would join the fight.

Not risking going inside, he instead leaped up along the balconies, taking advantage of how few students and teachers would be able to follow. Cementoss wouldn't destroy the building and the teachers with area-effect powers wouldn't risk the students. And Aizawa—

Izuku frowned. Aizawa was nowhere to be seen. Moving through the dorm? Maybe he knew it was him, Izuku thought, and that was why he'd always missed. But Izuku couldn't waste time hoping. All he had to do now was break a window and—

A startled croak almost made him fall off the balcony. He put his arm up in front of his face, glancing over his hand at Tsuyu. In the doorway of her room, she was still in her pajamas, fresh bandages around one thigh and hip.

He reached into his hoodie's pocket and pulled out a sealed plastic bag, holding it toward her. She croaked again, stepping back, thinking he meant to attack.

Shouts and curses came from inside the dorms. There was no time. Izuku pulled back the hood. He didn't bother to explain, instead holding it out at her again.

She met his look, silent for a moment. Then her tongue flashed out and grasped the bag, pulling it back so that she swallowed it. She faced him with a small nod.

When the door burst open, the students found Tsuyu back in bed, sleepily blinking at them and asking what the noise was. She repeated the same question to the men in dark suits, cringing at the sight of their guns. And later in the day, she repeated the same to Aizawa, Present Mic and Nezu, all of whom shared a look and didn't press.

In the evening, with all of the students locked up "for their safety," she asked if they would come keep her company as she recovered from having her bone marrow extracted. And with them surrounding her, she coughed up the bag for them.

Dozens of tightly rolled papers unfurled before them, names and faces of students who wouldn't be coming back to class.


End file.
